Something So Human
by recklesslove
Summary: Dean never thought something so human would rip his heart out so completely.
1. Chapter 1

Something So Human

Disclaimer: I unfortunately own nothing of "Supernatural".

When Dean woke up that morning, it was to the smell of egg and cheese sandwiches and hash browns sitting on the hotel room table. Sam was sitting at the table, flipping through a newspaper, one of the sections already lying crumpled in the trash can.

"Thanks Sammy," Dean said, yawning and making his way to the table, immediately grabbing two of the sandwiches and three hash browns. He flipped through the paper. "Where's the front section?"

"I threw it away," Sam answered, handing Dean the comics. "I thought we could use a break from all that depressing news." Dean snorted, glared at him, and reached for the section in the trash. Sam slapped his hand hard. "I said no, Dean."

"Sam, you are being weirder than usual, let me tell you that." Sighing, Dean settled into the chair and finished his breakfast, standing up upon completion. "C'mon. We gotta go to the bank. We need some funds."

"We have a bank account?" Sam asked in confusion, standing up also and grabbing his coat.

"Well, if by we you mean Luke Ford, then yes, yes we do," Dean answered with a grin, heading towards the car. Sam followed, and within moments the boys were at the local branch of Express Bank.

"Sammy, my boy, why don't you wait in those chairs over there?" Dean said with a smirk, already striding towards the cute female teller at the nearest window. Without waiting for Sam's reply, Dean leaned on the counter and flashed the teller a smile. "Hi…Daisy," he said, reading her nametag. "I need to withdraw some funds. You look like the kind of girl who could help me with that."

Suddenly from the front of the bank came screams, and then a deep voice barking, "Alright this is a holdup! Just give us the money we want and the boy goes free!"

Dean knew. For a moment he stood frozen, hands clasping the counter, feeling irrationally that if he just never turned around, none of this would actually be happening. But his body rotated on its own, and Dean found himself facing his own nightmare. A man in a dark blue ski mask held a gun pressed to Sam's temple.


	2. Chapter 2

"Do whatever the hell he wants!" Dean barked at the teller, all flirtation gone from his now trembling voice.

"Sir, I-" The teller began, her eyes wide with fright, staring at the men in masks now swarming the bank.

"He's got my brother!" Dean yelled, slamming his hands down on the counter. The teller looked at him for a second, then with a nod began shoveling money into a bag.

"Your brother, huh?" the robber closest to Dean leered, advancing on Dean. "Then you wouldn't mind adding that nice watch of yours to the bag, would you?"

Staring the man down, Dean removed his watch, his fingers lightly running over it before dropping it in the bag. "Why don't you let him go?" Dean said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "You can take me instead."

"No, I think we're good," the man laughed, reaching for the bag of money. News teams had pulled up outside by this point, mixing with the cop cars. Every reporter had their camera pressed up against the glass.

Suddenly a team of cops burst through the door, guns held high. "Put the guns down!" one of them yelled. "You're surrounded!"

"No!" Dean yelled, frantically gesturing to the cops. "They've got a hostage! They've got my brother! You-" But he was cut off by the sound of a gunshot behind him. He turned just in time to see Sam crumple to the ground, a bullet hole through his temple.

To Be Continued…of course. To those of you who want to kill me because of the end of this chapter…just know everything isn't what it seems.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all so much for your reviews! You inspired me to stay on the computer extra tonight to get out another chapter. I can't tell you how much it means to me to have people so into this story-I haven't felt this inspired in a while. Hope you like this chapter-there's more coming.

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All Dean knew was that he screamed, a loud guttural sound from deep inside where his heart used to be, a sound that turned all attention and cameras on him. He sprinted forward, ignoring guns and cops, dropping to his knees beside Sam's inert form. Dean's fingers lightly grazed the small hole that had taken his brother's life, and then collapsed over Sam, hugging his lifeless brother to his chest.

"Sammy," he sobbed, his breath catching in his chest so hard it hurt. "No, Sammy, no." Dean didn't notice the commotion around him, the arrests made, the robbers dragged out, not until the robber who had shot Sam was dragged past him.

Dean leapt up, slamming the man into the nearest wall. "You son of a bitch!" he screamed, pounding his fist into any part of the body he could reach, only stopping when the cop dragged him off and the man's face was an unrecognizable pile of bloody pulp. Still Dean fought to get at him, but the man was hauled into a cop car and Dean was left with the body of the person he had loved most in this world.

Kneeling again, Dean took Sam back into his arms, lightly ruffling his hair, sobbing so hard his cries became a hacking unstoppable cough threatening to rip his lungs out of his body. "Son, we need to take the body to the morgue," a cop said kindly, placing his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"He can't leave me," Dean whispered, covering the hole in Sam's head with his finger.

"I'm truly sorry, but we have to take him now. It'll help us put away the guy who did this. You can come claim the body in a few days if you like."

At the word "body", Dean's body shuddered and he retched. Grabbing him, the cop steered him over to a garbage can, keeping a hand on Dean's shoulder as he heaved up the breakfast Sam had brought him that morning. By the time Dean was done, Sam's body had been taken away.

Dean couldn't bear to drive the car, couldn't bear to be in the same vehicle he and Sam had spent so much time in together. He tried playing Zepplin as loud as it would go, with the windows down and the speed inching higher and higher, but all he could think of was how Sam would tell him to turn it down and slow down.

When Dean got to the hotel, the first thing he saw was the bed Sam had slept in the night before. His screams echoing off the walls, Dean tipped the table next to the bed over, smashing the bedside lamp onto the floor. Smashes and shattering mixed with guttural screams as Dean made his way around the room, destroying everything that came into his vision.

When he had finished, Dean was surrounded by chaos, torn bedsheets mixed with shattered vases and ruptured paintings. It was then he noticed his gun lying under a split table, the gun he had never thought to bring this morning because what bad thing would ever happen at a bank, right?

Having grabbed the gun, Dean checked the ammo. It was fully loaded. He stared at it for a moment, then slowly raised it to his head. "I know you wouldn't approve Sammy," he said shakily, his eyes on the ceiling. "But we can argue about that in the afterlife, ok? Cause God knows I can't live here without you."

His finger on the trigger, Dean suddenly heard a frantic pounding from the closet. Glancing over, he saw a pair of horrified eyes staring at him through the small grate. The gun now lowered to point at the closet, Dean inched forward. Gun in one hand, he flung upon the door. Sam stared back at him.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean stared at Sam, who was shrugging off the ropes that had bound his hands. A pile of rope lay at his feet, and his ankles were covered in raw red rope burn. Sam strode forwards and grabbed the gun from Dean's hands, clicking the safety on and then tossing the gun across the room.

"What the hell were you doing?" Sam yelled, smacking Dean in the head. "I can't-"

"You hit me," Dean interrupted, staring at Sam in awe, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Your hand was solid."

"Yeah I hit you," Sam answered, staring at Dean in confusion. "You were being incredibly stupid. What-" His words halted as Dean tentatively reached a trembling hand out to push the hair away from Sam's right temple. Dean's finger rested on the smooth, unbroken skin, his sleeve riding up to reveal his bare wrist.

"Dean, where's your watch?" Sam asked. Dean let out a strangled sob, grabbing the back of his brother's neck and pulling him into a hug so tight Dean's hands touched his arms. Sam stood wrapped in his brother's arms, returning Dean's hug as Dean began to sob. "Dean, what's wrong?" Sam's voice was tender, his face pressed into his brother's shoulder. "I mean, I know I was missing for a few hours, but…"

"Missing? Sammy, I…oh god, I thought you died." Dean pulled back for a second to stare at Sam again, leaving his hands on Sam's shoulders, and Sam couldn't remember ever seeing his brother cry like this.

"Died?" Sam asked in shock, only then noticing the state of the hotel room. "Dean, did you get attacked?" Instantly Sam's concern was for his brother.

"No. I did this myself." Dean looked around the room as if for the first time. "After…I thought…"

"Hey, it's ok," Sam said softly, shaken by the realization that the room was the physical representation of what Dean had been going through. "I'll help you clean it up."

"Ok." Dean took a step and his knees buckled. Sam caught him, frightened by the paleness of Dean's skin.

"Dean, have you eaten anything?" Sam half-dragged Dean over to a bed and sat him down.

"I threw it up," Dean said, his body sagging as he collapsed onto the bed. Sam didn't know what to do, what to say. He had never seen his brother show this much weakness before in his life.

"Ok, I'll go get you some food from across the street." Sam turned to go, but felt a hand grip his arm.

"I…I'd rather you stay here." Dean put his other hand on Sam's arm, anchoring him to the spot.

"Sure, of course, I'll…I'll order something in." Sam reached for the phone with his free arm and called in for pizza. Then he perched on Dean's bed, Dean's hands still clutching to his arm.

"So…what exactly happened, Sammy?" Dean asked, taking a few deep breaths in and out, and Sam was relieved to see a few spots of color return to his cheeks.

"This morning, I went out to get us some breakfast," Sam began, keeping an eye on Dean. "On the way back, I was attacked by someone…a shapeshifter, Dean. He already looked exactly like me. He knocked me out and threw me in the closet."

"And I didn't hear a thing," Dean said angrily, gritting his teeth. "I just let the whole thing happen."

"Dean, you can't blame yourself. You-"

"Sammy, you have no idea!" Dean yelled, sitting up. "What I thought…I…" Still unable to say the words out loud, Dean leaned back against the pillow, eyes closed, a few tears trickling out from the corners.

"Hey, Dean, c'mon, it's…" Sam didn't know how to continue. He had no idea how to take the nightmare memories away from Dean. Instead, he flicked on the television, turning to some daytime television show, hoping to distract Dean.

Suddenly a Special News Broadcast interrupted the show. "We interrupt to bring you news of a hostage situation this morning that ended in tragedy," the reporter said, as the screen filled with the image of Dean clutching a body that looked just like Sam. Silent tears streamed from Sam's eyes at Dean's pain, at the look on Dean's face as he refused to let the body go, the way Dean threw himself over the body and sobbed.

Too into the broadcast to notice Dean was watching, Sam couldn't help but notice as Dean made a sprint for the bathroom. Retching noises echoed off the tiles.

"Dean!" Sam quickly switched the television off, running to the bathroom and falling to his knees next to his brother. "Ssh, Dean, it's ok, I'm right here." He stroked the hair back from Dean's face as Dean gagged into the toilet, his head resting against the cool porcelain.

Sam stood up and grabbed a washcloth from the rack, running cool water on it and placing it on the back of Dean's neck. His other hand rubbed small circles on Dean's back. "I used to do this for you," Dean said as he took a few deep breaths.

"Yeah you did," Sam whispered. His cell phone suddenly rang in the next room, and Sam went to answer it, quickly bringing it back with him to the bathroom. He clicked it open. "Hello?"

"Sammy?" His father's voice echoed out of the phone.


	5. Chapter 5

"Dad?" Sam asked in wonder.

"Sammy, it is you!" Sam was shocked to hear shakiness in his father's voice. "I…I saw the news…I…"

"No, Dad, I'm fine. It was a shapeshifter." Sam put his hand back on Dean's shoulder, squeezing it gently. Dean didn't even look up at the word "dad", his exhausted body leaning against the toilet for support.

"I figured it might be. That's…another reason I called." John's voice was still shaky, sounding unsure for the first time in as long as Sam could remember. "I've been hearing rumors about a gang of shapeshifters out where you are. I figured they could have had a hand in it."

"Do you have any idea what they're up to?" Sam asked, unable to believe he was so casually carrying on with this conversation, as if everything was normal.

"No, but it can't be good, so just watch your backs." There was silence and for a moment Sam thought his brother had hung up. Then John's voice came hesitantly through the line. "How…how's Dean?"

"Not too good," Sam signed, looking at Dean, who now had his back propped against the glass wall of the shower. "But we'll get through it. I'm not going anywhere." He added the last thought accusingly, his voice defiant.

"I know, Sammy, I know." Sam could hear his father's deep sigh, still so achingly familiar. "And I know you're mad, and someday we'll talk this out, but now is not the time. Just…take care of yourselves…and good luck with the shapeshifters. I know you two can handle them."

Sam's protests were met by a dial tone, and he angrily slammed the phone down. "Dad, huh?" Dean said, standing up slowly to gulp down water from the sink. He stopped, his mouth halfway to the tap. "Damnit! I should have called him! I should have told him you were ok."

Sam grabbed a cup and filled it with water, thrusting it at Dean. "Drink," Sam ordered. "And stop beating yourself up. Dad's not here, you don't owe him."

Dean glared at Sam, but drank the water. "Bitch," he muttered under his breath.

"Jerk," Sam gladly returned, and smiled broadly at the amused smirk that graced Dean's face. The doorbell rang, and Sam went to grab the pizza, sweeping a broken lamp off the table and laying the pizza down.

"Come and get it dear," Sam called out laughingly, grabbing a slice.

"Oh honey, you shouldn't have," Dean responded, taking a slice and plopping down in a chair. Sam's phone began beeping, a continuous strain of irritating noise that only halted when Sam picked the phone up and opened it.

"Oh wow," Sam said, gaping at the screen.

"What?" Dean moved over to look at the screen and whistled. "Jeez Sammy, fifteen messages is a lot. Who are they from?"

"They're all from my friends at Stanford." Sam scrawled through the missed calls. His eyes suddenly widened. "They must have seen the news."

"Must be nice." Dean leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, filling his mouth with pizza. Sam turned to him in confusion, and for a moment, it looked like Dean was going to refuse to add anything. Dean sighed, and opened his eyes, keeping them on the ceiling. "Must be nice to have people care enough to call."

"Dean…" Sam didn't know what to say, suddenly realizing what Dean was referencing. No one but their dad had called when the news had shown Dean as dead. Dean hadn't had any friends who would call.

"Are you gonna call them back?" Dean grabbed another piece of pizza, ignoring Sam's look. Sam stared at the screen for a minute, then shut the phone.

"Not now. I mean…what would I say exactly? Hi, this is Sam, a shapeshifter died, not me?" Sam threw the phone on the bed, his eyes remaining on it for a long time. Then he shook his head and turned back to Dean. "On to the shapeshifters then. Was anything off this morning, Dean? Anything weird?"

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam rolled his right back. "Ok Dean, anything besides what we've already gone over?" Dean froze in mid eye roll.

"Actually, yeah," Dean said, standing up and moving over to the garbage can. "This morning, the shapeshifter wouldn't let me read the front page of the paper. He kept insisting I read the comics instead." Dean reached into the garbage can and extracted the front page, shaking it open and reading. "And this would explain it."

Sam got up, beginning to read over Dean's shoulder. **Bank Robberies Continue** the headline read. "Ok, so this article essentially says that there have been a ton of bank robberies in this area," Dean said, skimming the article. "Do you think that the robbers this morning were shapeshifters? Because judging by this article, what's being happening is that respected, well-to-do citizens have suddenly started robbing banks, and that sounds a little freakazoid to me."

"Then why kill the shapeshifter this morning?" Sam posited, righting a chair and sitting down.

"To get to me?" Dean answered, leaning against the wall, still skimming the article. "I mean, I wasn't exactly in hunting shape after…the incident." He refused to meet Sam's eyes, his eyes glued to the print in front of him.

"But then why not just kill me for real?" Sam asked. He suddenly remembered the nightmarish moment when he opened his eyes to see Dean with a gun pointed at his head. As if reading Sam's mind, Dean quickly spoke up before Sam could open his mouth.

"So maybe it was some kind of punishment. Maybe that shapeshifter was supposed to kill you, and he botched the job? So they took him out." Getting to the end of the article, Dean slowly raised his head, looking at Sam. "Sammy, looks like you might be getting to explain this all to your friends anyway."

"What do you mean?" Sam looked at Dean in confusion.

"Well, it says here the robberies started in California…at Stanford." Dean put the paper down on the floor. "Are you ready to go back?"


	6. Chapter 6

Sam hadn't said much after the declaration about Stanford, simply stepping over to his suitcase, which Dean's rampage had left untouched, and throwing the few things he brought with him in. Climbing into the passenger seat of the Impala, Sam hadn't even commented when Dean began blasting Metallica.

"Earth to Sammy?" Dean took his hands off the steering wheel for a minute to wave them in front of Sam's face. "You ok with this?"

"I don't know," Sam answered honestly, his head leaning against the cool window. "It's going to be weird, that's for sure." He tilted his head to look at his brother. "Are you ok with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dean asked, staring straight ahead, his knuckles white where he tightly gripped the steering wheel.

"Well, I mean…I left you and Dad to go to Stanford." Sam's hesitant answer was met by silence on Dean's end. "Are we gonna talk about that?" Dean still didn't answer, and Sam raised his voice. "Ok, then why don't we talk about what the hell you were doing with a gun pointed to your head?"

Dean sighed, still refusing to look at Sam. "How about we don't, Sammy?"

"It's Sam, and how about we do? Dean, if I had woken up a second later…" Sam took a deep breath in through his nose, trying to calm himself. "I don't even want to think about it."

"Then don't," Dean answered bluntly, but Sam could see his hands were shaking on the wheel.

"I can't stop thinking about it!" Sam finally shouted, slamming his hand down on the dashboard. "One second more, Dean…one second more. I mean…"

"Look, I don't want to talk about it!" Dean exploded, slamming his own hands down on the steering wheel. Sam was silent for a moment, not knowing what to do, just staring out the window, then he suddenly broke the silence.

"I've been through this too, Dean." Sam twisted in his seat to face his brother, who stared back at him in confusion. "A shapeshifter took your shape once too, Dean, and I had to get the shit kicked out of me by someone who looked exactly like you. I thought I was going to die with a face that looked like yours staring at me with more hate than I've ever seen in my life."

"Sam…"

"And then Dean, I had to watch what looked exactly like you get shot in the chest and die! For a minute my heart stopped, ok? I swear to you I stopped breathing. Cause there's your face hanging over the edge, and blood's leaking down your chest, and you're dead! And I couldn't see you anywhere, and he had your necklace, and it wasn't until you stepped in next to him and looked at me that I knew you were ok!"

Silence filled the car before Dean spoke again. "Sammy…I…I didn't know," Dean said quietly, his finger tapping a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel.

"Dean, I…" But Sam didn't know what to say, instead pressing the side of his face against the seat.

"Look, when we beat these shapeshifters…I promise we'll talk about what I was doing, ok?" Sam nodded, but was unable to add anything as he realized they had pulled up in front of Becky's house. "Thought you might want to come here first."

Sam got out of the car and rang the doorbell, Dean right behind him. Becky opened the door and instantly flung her arms around Sam, hugging him tightly. "Sam, I was so worried!" Becky exclaimed, pulling back to take a good look at Sam. "Was it a shapeshifter?"

"Yeah," Sam with a laugh, hugging her back. "I have to say, it's great to hear someone outside the family use that line." Becky smiled, then stepped over to hug Dean.

"Are you ok, Dean?" Becky asked kindly.

"Getting there," Dean responded with a small smile as he and Sam followed Becky into the home she was still staying in. Becky sat down with them, leaning forward in her chair.

"Have you talked to anyone else from Stanford, Sam?" Becky asked. "Everyone's been going crazy since seeing the news."

"No," Sam replied, staring down at his hands. "I don't know what to say to them."

"Just tell them what you told me," Becky said gently, putting her hand on top of Sam's. Sam laughed bitterly.

"You may have taken it well, but you didn't at first, and I have no idea what they'll think," Sam said, taking a deep breath and releasing a long, drawn out sigh.

"Well, let's go find out then," Becky suggested, standing up and pulling Sam and Dean with her. Shooting Sam a look, Dean followed Becky out the door. With another sign, Sam followed as well.

It was dark by the time they pulled up to another house. Sam hesitated a second before getting out. Before he could even step out the door, a man and a woman came hurrying out of the house. Sam stepped out to two enormous hugs, a smile crossing his tired features as he hugged them back.

"Sam!" the woman exclaimed, kissing him on the cheek. "We were so worried. What happened?"

"Um…" Sam stalled, looking at Dean for support. Dean quickly stuck his hand out.

"Hi, I'm-" Dean began, but the man interrupted.

"You must be Dean," the man said, shaking Dean's hand. "I'm Alex. We've heard so much about you."

"You have?" Dean asked, turning his head slightly to stare at his brother. Sam coughed into his fist, then looked up at the sky, avoiding Dean's eyes. "Yeah, I'm Dean. It's nice to meet you Alex. And you are?" Dean turned a flirtatious gaze on the woman.

"Dean, this is Grace," Sam said. Dean shook her hand far longer than he had shaken Alex's. "Alex's girlfriend." Dean lingered a minute before letting go of Grace's hand.

"So what did happen, Sam?" Alex asked. "Was it just someone who looked like you, like you said happened with Dean?"

"Like you said…?" Dean asked, again turning to stare at Sam, whose mind was obviously racing.

"Would you believe that?" Sam said to Alex hopefully, trying to make it out as a joke. Suddenly screams came from upstairs. Sam acted on instinct, quickly reaching into the trunk of the Impala and extracting two shotguns, one of which he threw to Dean. Ignoring the stares of his friends, Sam followed Dean into the house, and up to the top floor, where the screams were coming from.

The screams seemed to be coming from two different directions, one from the left side of the floor, the other from the right. Sam went left, and as he entered the first room, the lights all went out.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam yelled, trying to locate his brother in the absolute darkness. Sam heard heavy breathing from all around him, and as he swung the shotgun towards a corner, the gun was slammed out of his hands. Drawing a knife, Sam spun in circles, praying for his night vision to kick in.

Sam's shoulder was suddenly grabbed and he spun around, shoving the knife into the soft flesh of the intruder. At that exact moment, light came in from the small window, illuminating Dean, Sam's knife stuck through his stomach.


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry this took so long guys, but I actually ended up in the emergency room for a few hours with an asthma attack. I am doing much better, but am not sleeping great and not feeling fantastic. Working on this helped distract me though, and your reviews really made me smile. Please keep reading and reviewing, and thanks!_

Sam stood frozen, eyes unable to look away from the knife blade now prominently displayed in his brother's stomach. As the blood gushed forward, Dean's knees buckled and he collapsed onto his back, crying out in anguish as the motion jarred the steel slicing through his insides.

As Dean collapsed, so did Sam, dropping to his knees besides the writhing figure of his brother. "DEAN!" Sam screamed, trying desperately to think of something, anything to do, only able to stare in horror as blood bubbles oozed up from Dean's moaning mouth.

Dean's back arched suddenly as a pain wave shot through his body, and Sam placed his hands on Dean's stomach, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. But his palms slipped in the fountains of blood as more blood trickled from Dean's mouth.

"Oh god Dean, that's internal bleeding, that's…what do I do…God Dean I'm so sorry…I didn't…DEAN!" Sam was screaming, ranting, his body shaking, any breath he managed to get in reminding him of the breath Dean was quickly losing.

Sam heard footsteps coming up quickly behind him, and he knew he should try to defend himself, but at that moment he didn't care if he lived or died, only that he had killed the person he loved most in the world. Arms wrapped around Sam from behind and began dragging him away, whoever had him saying something into his ear, but all Sam understood was that whoever this was was taking him away from Dean, Dean who Sam had stabbed, Dean who was…who was dying.

"NO!" Sam screamed, clawing desperately to get back to Dean's side. The strong arms dragged him out of the room and down the stairs, Sam grabbing at anything within reach in an attempt to try to get back to Dean, but the only result was splinters piercing his palms.

Sam was dragged out onto the grass outside, the night now almost as black as the inside of the house had become. Prostrate on his knees, Sam retched, vomiting up what felt like everything he had ever eaten in his entire life. A strong arm held him around the chest, steadying him as his body quivered with his gagging and his shock and his grief.

Suddenly Sam realized a hand was gently rubbing his back in small circles. Turning around, Sam's eyes immediately fell on the so familiar necklace hanging around a very much alive Dean's neck. Sam laughed, and then cried, great gulping sobs he couldn't hold back.

Dean pulled him in tightly, holding the back of Sam's head against his chest, and the voice that had been murmuring in Sam's ear finally broke through. "Ssh, Sammy, it's ok, I'm right here. I'm right here." Alex, Grace, and Becky had run out onto the front lawn, but Sam's entire focus was on Dean.

"Shape…shifter…" Sam managed to gasp out, half-laughing, half-sobbing.

"Yeah, yeah it was, Sammy. Just take a few deep breaths." Dean buried his chin in Sam's hair, clutching his hysterical brother to him. "It's ok." Sam tried to breathe normally, but the sobs were too much and he choked on the air that couldn't get in. "It's ok, Sammy, I'll breathe with you, ok?"

Dean took in slow even breaths, his chest rising and falling against Sam's back, and within a few minutes Sam's breath matched his brother's. "There you go, Sammy, good job," Dean murmured.

"I need to clean my hands," Sam insisted frantically, staring at his hands, covered in blood he had thought to be his brother's.

"Ok, just give me your hands," Dean said firmly, taking Sam's hands and rubbing them along the grass until the blood was gone.

"Thanks," Sam said, his voice sounding steadier. He put his hands on his knees, taking a few deep breaths, and then pushed himself into a standing position. Dean put his steadying hands on Sam's shoulders as his body swayed slightly, but Sam soon regained his composure.

"You alright?" Dean asked in concern, wincing at the pain still evident in Sam's eyes.

"Getting there," Sam answered, offering up a weak smile. He suddenly dropped back to the grass, retching, head pressed against the dirt. Dean dropped down beside him, arm around his shoulders. "Or not," Sam added shakily. "How much did you see up there?"

"Enough to know I'd be doing the same thing if the roles were reversed," Dean responded kindly, brushing Sam's hair back from his pale face. "You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, but Dean didn't believe him, the tears still pouring from Sam's eyes telling a different story.

"Don't make me lift up my shirt and show you my perfect abs to prove there's no hole in me," Dean threatened with a laugh, and Sam responded in kind, a genuine smile finally gracing his features.

"Jerk," Sam said, reaching his arm out to smack Dean in the shoulder.

"Bitch," Dean responded, smiling broadly, helping Sam stand up again.

"What happened?" Grace asked, her voice frightened.

"Sammy, you explain however you feel best," Dean said. "I'm going to go take care of…the thing upstairs."

"Not by yourself!" Sam insisted, starting to follow him.

"They're long gone by now," Dean replied, patting Sam's shoulder. "I need to get the body out since I'm supposed to be dead already."

"I'll go with you," Becky said suddenly, and Sam smiled at her gratefully. Becky and Dean walked back into the house as Sam turned to face Grace and Alex's questions.

"Ok so…" Sam began, then sighed. "So I'm just going to tell the truth. When I told you that that guy who died who looked exactly like Dean-that that was a case of mistaken identity-well, it…it wasn't. It was a shapeshifter."

"A what?" Alex asked incredulously, just as Dean and Becky brought out the body, Dean positioning himself so he was blocking Sam's view of the blood soaked body. Alex and Grace ran over to look, Sam staying behind. When Alex and Grace came back, they could only stare at Sam.

"Sam, that…that looked exactly like Dean," Grace stammered out.

"Believe me, I know," Sam answered, his body involuntarily shuddering.

"And it was a…a shapeshifter that got shot at the bank?" Alex asked, his eyes showing how fast his mind was racing.

"Yeah it was. Are you actually believing me on this?" Sam asked incredulously. "And you're not running away screaming?"

"Well, we did see the body, and besides…you were never a good liar Sam," Grace said with a laugh. "You definitely aren't lying now. We could always tell."

"She's got an excellent point Sammy," Dean said with a smirk, walking back with Becky.

"It's Sam, and…yeah, yeah she does," Sam said with a laugh, unable to stop smiling as he realized his friends weren't going to abandon him because of his life.

"I think Sammy's a cute nickname," Grace said with a smile.

"Do not encourage him," Sam insisted, pointing a finger at Dean. "He won't stop calling me that as is."

"Look, I vote we talk about this in the morning," Dean suggested, looking at Sam in concern, a mocking smirk playing across his face. "My little Sammy here looks pretty worn out." Sam swatted Dean across the head, an exasperated laugh escaping Sam's lips.

"Yeah, cause you're gonna win a beauty pageant," Sam retorted. "But you're right, actually. I am pretty tired."

"You guys are my witnesses," Dean said, pointing at Sam's friends. "Sammy here just admitted I'm right." Punching Dean in the arm, Sam looked to his friends.

"Do you guys think we could crash here tonight?" Sam asked. "It's pretty far to the motel."

"Of course," Alex answered, leading them inside. "We wouldn't have it any other way." He led Dean and Sam inside, settling them into a room on the first floor. "Just give me a call if you need anything."

"Thanks man," Dean answered. When Sam made no response, Dean turned to find Sam already out cold on the bed. Dean laughed quietly, walking over to pull a blanket over Sam. For a while Dean just stared at Sam, at the worry lines creasing his forehead, the bags under his eyes, his torn-up hands. "I'm sorry Sammy," Dean whispered, lightly resting his hand on Sam's arm. "I'll miss you more than I could ever say, but I can't risk you anymore."

With one long glance back at his brother, Dean picked up his things and quietly exited the house, getting in the Impala and driving up the road.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks so much for all the reviews and well-wishes everyone. You guys are making writing this story a dream come true  _

Sam woke up screaming, hands clutching at the bedsheets as images of Dean with a knife through his stomach sliced through his dreams. His eyes landed in horror on the empty bed beside him as Becky came running in. "Where's Dean?" Sam asked frantically, getting up off the bed so fast his head spun.

"I don't know, Sam," Becky responded, staring at the empty bed. "He was here last night."

"Damnit!" Sam stared around the room in a complete panic. "What if the shapeshifters got to him? What if they took him? I-" A thought suddenly occurred to Sam, and he sprinted outside, the lack of the Impala freezing him in his tracks. "He left." Sam's words came out as a whisper, but within seconds he had spun around to face Becky. "Can I borrow your car?"

"Yeah of course," Becky answered, looking at him in confusion. "But how do you know where to find him?"

"Because he'll be driving as far away from here as possible, in the opposite direction from how we came in, because he thinks he's protecting me." Sam opened his hand as Becky threw the keys to him. "Is there a shortcut to the main road out of here?"

"If you go up Shooter Road, you can cut a few miles off," Becky said, stepping closer to Sam. "I'll come with you and show you."

"Thanks Becky," Sam said gratefully, jumping into the driver's seat of the car. As miles went by with no sign of Dean, Sam began to fidget nervously, his hands unconsciously tapping out a Metallica rhythm on the steering wheel.

Suddenly the Impala came into view, and Sam stepped on the gas, swerving around the familiar car to halt in front of it, effectively blocking Dean from escaping. Sam jumped out of the car, slamming the door and stepping up to meet a startled Dean.

"You are such an asshole!" Sam yelled, shoving Dean in the chest. Dean stumbled back, his body bumping into the Impala.

"Sammy, what the-" Dean began, but Sam quickly cut him off.

"So what, you were just going to leave me there, is that it?" Sam slammed his hands down on the roof of the car, then spun to glare at Dean furiously.

"What did you expect me to do, Sammy, huh?" Dean fired back, recovering somewhat from his shock. "Those shapeshifters are using you to get to me! Knocking you out, almost killing you! That shapeshifter you stabbed-I'm sure it was creeping up to take you out!"

"And leaving is going to help me? I woke up and you weren't there and I thought…Dean, after what happened last night, I thought the shapeshifters had grabbed you!"

Dean was about to retort, but was stopped short by Sam's unexpected words. "Sammy, I didn't think you would think that," Dean said with a sigh, leaning his back against the car. "I figured…you would just stay at Stanford with your friends, and then you could have a normal life."

"So then I would what, Dean? Forget about you?" Sam stared at Dean in disbelief.

"Well you did before…" Dean trailed off as hurt suddenly flared up in Sam's eyes.

"Dean…" Sam sighed, leaning up against the car next to Dean, looking out into the distance. "I did anything but forget about you." Dean turned quickly to look at Sam. "I worried about you all the time. Every time the phone rang I was afraid to answer it because I knew it could be Dad calling to tell me you had died."

"You did?" Dean asked, unable to keep the astonishment from his voice. "You could have called…"

"Yeah, you could have too," Sam answered, punching Dean lightly in the shoulder. "We're both pretty stubborn bastards." Sam seemed suddenly to think of something. "Ok, let me explain this in a way your version of a brain can understand." Laughing at the glare Dean gave him, Sam shifted his weight against the car.

"When you said back in the hotel that it must be nice to have people calling worried about me," Sam began, "Dean, people did call when it looked like you had died. People called me." Dean remained silent, Sam knowing from Dean's posture that he was listening more carefully than he would care to admit.

"Let me make this even simpler," Sam continued, laughing as he felt a light punch hit his shoulder. "I had three pictures up in the house I shared with Jessica, ok? One was of me with Jessica, one was of our mom, and the third one was of you and me, Dean. So what I'm trying to say is all my friends were calling me, afraid I was about to be admitted to an insane asylum after watching you die."

"Well I always knew you were crazy, Sammy," Dean said with a smile, though Sam could have sworn he saw Dean quickly brush tears off his face.

"Were you…were you crying Dean?" Sam asked, unable to keep the smirk off his face.

"No, and if you ever suggest that again, Sammy, I will beat your ass so hard…" Dean swung open the passenger door of the Impala, then walked over to the driver's seat and settled in. "Now are you coming or not?"

Sighing, Sam happily rolled his eyes at Becky. "Becky, can you drive your car back? Dean here needs some adult supervision." Becky laughed, then nodded and climbed into her car as Dean started up the Impala. They drove in silence for a few minutes before Dean spoke up again.

"Which picture did you have up?" The question was so quiet Sam almost missed it. With a smile, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a picture of him and Dean, arms around each other shoulders, the picture taken on Sam's last birthday at home. He flashed the picture at Dean.

Dean unexpectedly reached into his pocket and tossed his wallet into Sam's lap. Opening it up, Sam found the exact same picture staring up at him. Unable to stop a surprised grin from spreading across his face, Sam poked Dean in the side. "You love me…" Sam needled Dean, smirking.

Dean's response was to suddenly turn the music on, Metallica blaring through the Impala, but Sam didn't miss the smile Dean let flash across his face. "You're my stupid jerk of a big brother and I love you too," Sam said, again poking Dean in the side.

Dean slapped his hand away, then turned back to face the road. "You're my whiny bitch of a little brother and I love you too," Dean said, just loud enough to barely be heard above the music, a statement Sam would have missed if he hadn't been listening so hard to hear it.

Dean quickly cranked the music up louder, making any further conversation impossible, and both brothers sat back with smiles on their faces, driving back along the road to Stanford together.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time the Impala pulled up in front of Stanford, Sam's yawning had become consistent. Dean practically shoved him up the stairs to the guest room, pointing at Sam's bed. "Sleep," Dean commanded, making clear there was no room for argument.

"What are you going to do?" Sam mumbled, already drifting off to sleep.

"Go downstairs to get something to eat," Dean said with a grin, patting his stomach. "I'm starving." About to head downstairs, Dean suddenly turned around, rummaging in his pocket and extracting two red rubber bands. He slipped one over his ankle and one over Sam's. "Now we can tell who's who here, alright Sammy?"

"It's Sam," Sam spoke almost incoherently, his eyes unable to stay open long enough to fight with Dean.

Offering up a smirk and pulling the blanket over Sam, Dean headed downstairs to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets. He grabbed a box of Poptarts and settled down at the table, sighing as he broke a piece of pastry off and stuffed it in his mouth.

"What are we going to do?" he asked himself.

"Apparently eat all my food," Grace said from behind him.

"Sorry," Dean said sheepishly, moving the box away from him as Grace sat next to him. "I just haven't eaten anything in a while."

"No, it's fine," Grace said coyly, placing her hand on Dean's arm, sliding up to his shoulder. "You can have whatever you want here." For a moment Dean smiled flirtatiously back at her, but then something flashed in his eyes and he stood up from the table.

"Sam said you're with Alex." Dean stared at her, trying to read what exactly was going on.

"Alex doesn't matter," Grace said, slinking towards Dean. "Just stay here with me." She moved until she was blocking the exit from the kitchen.

"Sure Grace, of course," Dean said, leaning in towards her. Then suddenly he shoved her, moving into the empty space he had created and sprinting up the stairs at breakneck speed. "Sam! Sam!"

Skidding into the guest room, Dean's horrified eyes fell on the empty bed, the knocked over nightstand, the broken lamp. A yell came from the attic and Dean took off running again, taking the stairs two at a time. The attic door was locked, but adrenaline enabled Dean to kick it open, and he burst through the door with his gun drawn.

The sight that met his eyes stopped his heart. Three stools were rigged up, a familiar pair of sneakers balanced on each. Three bodies perched precariously on the stools, each one looking exactly like Sam. Three nooses encircled the necks of his little brother, his Sammy, ready to snap down and sap the life out of him. Each Sam looked exactly the same, each stool ready to be kicked out at a moment's notice and break necks.

"How does it feel, Dean?" came his own voice from the dark corner of the room. A shapeshifter slid forward, his shape that of Dean, his voice cold and triumphant. "How does it feel to know your brother's going to die?"

"If you hurt him, I swear I'll kill you!" Dean snarled, moving forward. The shapeshifter casually raised a hand, and unseen hands nudged the stools forward a little, causing each body to sway slightly. "Ok, ok, no need to go there." Dean's voice was desperate, shaky, his hand trembling where he clutched the gun.

"Which one's your Sammy, huh, Dean?" the shapeshifter taunted, moving closer to Dean. "Oh, Sammy, where are you?"

"Don't you call him that!" Dean scanned the three unconscious forms, pleading with Sam through that connection they shared to give him a sign, any sign. The jeans all three were wearing covered up any hope Dean had of seeing the red rubber band.

"Oh that's right Dean, that's your pet name for your precious Sammy. Do you even care what I called my baby brother?" The shapeshifter's voice had rose in pitch and volume, and as Dean saw his eyes fill up he suddenly understood the whole horrible situation they were in.

"That shapeshifter I killed…the one who take my shape…he was your brother."

"Very good, Dean," the shapeshifter said mockingly. "He was my little brother and you killed him!" For a moment Dean saw the shapeshifter's composure slip, his eyes water, but just as quickly the mask was back up.

"He was going to kill _my_ little brother!" Dean responded, his voice growing shakier as he realized just how bad the situation was.

"And how did that feel Dean?" The shapeshifter took another step forward, entering the quickly fading light. "I know how it felt. Coming in to see your baby brother's eyes rolled back in his head, hand hanging limply at his side, blood smeared all over his broken features-"

"Shut up!" Dean gripped his hands tighter around the gun, trying to steady himself.

"Felt like everything was out of your control, like you couldn't breathe-"

"I said, shut up!" Dean raised the gun higher, sighting between the shapeshifter's eyes. "So what, you just decided you'd kill off a bunch of your own shapeshifters trying to get to me?"

The shapeshifter gestured at the three Sams precariously balanced on their stools. "They…may not have known what they were getting into…but their sacrifice is for a worthy cause. Now, Dean, we've chit chatted long enough. Time to take your brother's life into your hands. You couldn't protect him in the bank though, could you? You couldn't stop me from knocking him out, either. Can you save him now?"

Dean stared helplessly at the three forms, each looking exactly like his brother. The shapeshifter gave him a mocking glare, cackling in derision. "Don't you even know your own brother, Dean? The great superhero big brother himself? Well let's speed up the process then."

With a sudden sweeping gesture, the three stools were kicked out from under the three bodies, the nooses tightening around their necks.


	10. Chapter 10

"Sammy!" Dean screamed, acting on his heart's instinct, launching himself at the middle figure now suspended in mid-air. The shapeshifter slid into Dean's way, halting him with a punch to the stomach that sent Dean sprawling, gasping for air. Before Dean could recover, the shapeshifter had twined his hands around Dean's throat, fingernails cutting slits in Dean's skin.

But the sight of Sam's body twisting limply in the draft from the window sent adrenaline surging through Dean's body, and he kicked out with his legs, sending the shapeshifter staggering off a few feet. Dean kicked up to a standing position, sending a roundhouse kick into the shapeshifter's jaw, gaining a few more feet on him.

The shapeshifter grabbed Dean's arm and twisted it, bringing Dean's back into contact with the shapeshifter's chest. Dean was exactly in the line of sight to see Sam's face turning blue, eyes slightly bulging, and with a yell Dean used his body to shove the shapeshifter back into the wall.

Suddenly Dean was released, and turning around he quickly saw why. He had pushed the shapeshifter directly onto a hook coming out from the wall, a hook that had gone straight through the shapeshifter's heart, just narrowly missing piercing Dean's back as well.

Wasting no time, Dean sprinted over to where the bodies hung suspended, drawing his knife and slicing down the middle body. He caught Sam gently in his arms and lowered him to the floor, laying him out. Lifting Sam's pant leg slightly, Dean quickly spotted the red rubber band, but also quickly spotted that Sam wasn't breathing.

Quickly beginning mouth to mouth, Dean flinched at the bruises quickly forming around Sam's neck, and the bluish tint to his lips and face. "If you leave me, Sammy, so help me, I will kill you myself," Dean said, but couldn't find a laugh inside of himself.

There was no response from Sam, and Dean got desperate, slapping Sam's face, pushing on his chest in a continuation of CPR. "Sammy c'mon, don't you leave me," Dean begged. "You gotta breathe for me, ok Sammy? C'mon, you gotta breathe for me."

Sam suddenly coughed, rolling over onto his side as he hacked painfully, the bluish tint slowly vanishing from his face. "It's Sam," Sam gasped out, coughing again.

Dean laughed shakily and gratefully, gently cupping the back of Sam's neck and raising him, clutching him to his chest. "There you go Sammy," Dean said, shooting a victorious look at the shapeshifter's dead body. "Too damn stubborn to die. It's those genes I keep telling you about."

"How…how did you know which one was me?" Sam's breathing was already becoming slower, returning to a normal rate, though he made no attempt to remove himself from Dean's comforting arms.

"This coming from the boy who has visions?" Dean said with a laugh. He looked down at Sam. "I just…knew. I don't know. He dropped those stools and I…I just knew which one was you. Now don't go turning that into some sappy big brother crap, alright?" Dean tried for a sarcastic tone, but couldn't keep the affection out of his voice.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sam winced as he moved his neck slightly. "Where is the shapeshifter by the way?" His eyes suddenly fell on the shapeshifter's body and he shuddered.

"Let's not look that way, Sammy," Dean said, realizing a second too late that the shapeshifter still looked just like him. He gently turned Sam's head to the opposite wall. "Do you think you can get downstairs if I help you?"

Sam nodded weakly, and Dean helped him to his feet. Sam swayed slightly, but Dean was right there, arm around his shoulders. Together they made slow, but steady progress down the stairs and into the kitchen, joining Alex and Becky, who were hovering over a visibly shaken Grace.

"Oh my god Sam, are you ok?" Becky asked, as Dean helped Sam settle into a chair and went to grab some ice.

"Yeah, we had an…interesting encounter with the head shapeshifter upstairs," Sam said, his voice sounding raspy and hoarse. "Is Grace ok?"

"We found her tied up in the basement," Alex answered, his hand on Grace's shoulder.

"Yeah, a shapeshifter who looked like Grace tried to stop me from going upstairs," Dean offered, rummaging through the freezer. "I-"

Dean's words were suddenly cut off by a loud thump as his body slammed into the floor, a steak knife protruding from his back. Standing over him was someone who looked exactly like him, except for the leer contorting his features. "One down, one to go," the shapeshifter growled. "My master will not have died in vain."

"Dean!" Sam yelled, lifting himself from the chair. He swayed slightly, but didn't hesitate, lurching over to place himself protectively over Dean's prostrate body, unable to tell if Dean was even still breathing.

"How…touching," the shapeshifter said with a laugh, advancing on Sam. The shapeshifter went right for Sam's throat, squeezing the already-depleting air out of Sam's lungs, shooting pain through Sam's body.

Sam heard things being thrown, could see Becky, Grace, and Alex tossing pots and pans at the shapeshifter, but more importantly, he saw the tip of Dean's gun peeking out from under his jacket. Reaching down with his last ounce of strength, Sam grabbed the gun and shoved it into the shapeshifter's chest, pulling the trigger over and over.

As the shapeshifter slid dead to the ground, his hold on Sam's throat was released. Gasping for air, Sam slid down the wall, coming to a rest right next to Dean's body. Instantly, Sam's focus was all on his brother. "Dean!" Sam stared helplessly at the knife protruding from Dean's still body. "I'm sorry, I have to do this."

Placing one hand on Dean's back and one hand on the knife handle, Sam pulled, yanking the knife from Dean's back. Dean didn't react at all. Sam stared at his brother's pale face, tears coming to his eyes.

"Damnit Sammy, that hurt," Dean mumbled, and Sam laughed, slapping Dean lightly on the top of his head.

"Well then maybe you shouldn't scare me like that," Sam answered, grabbing some towels from the shelf and applying pressure to the wound. He gratefully accepted the first aid kit from Grace. "Now take your shirt off."

"I'd like that request so much better if it was coming from Becky," Dean grumbled as he pulled his shirt over his head. Becky shot him a look, but couldn't help laughing.

"Well, the knife didn't go too deep," Sam said, adding a final layer of bandages. "You should be just fine."

"Good to hear." Dean stuck his hand out. "Now give me my gun back." Shaking his head, Sam passed the gun over to Dean, then helped him to his feet. Leaning on the countertop, Dean reached into the freezer and extracted an ice pack, which he tossed at Sam.

Wrapping the ice around his neck, Sam let his eyes close, exhaustion creeping over him. When he woke up, he was back in his bed, Dean hovering over him. "Feeling better?" Dean asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam answered, relived to hear his voice sounding normal again. "How'd I get up here?"

"I carried your heavy ass up here," Dean answered, turning away from Sam and throwing the last of his clothes into a battered suitcase. "You passed out in the kitchen."

"Thanks," Sam said again. He sat up, drawing his knees into his chest. "Um…Dean…" Sam trailed off, not at all sure how to start this conversation.

"What's up?" Dean zipped up the suitcase and plopped down on the bed across from Sam.

"You owe me that conversation." Dean stared at Sam for a minute, then his gaze dropped to his hands.

"What conversation?" Dean tried to keep his voice casual.

"The one about why the hell you had a gun to your head!" Sam spit out, feeling his anger rise. "The one about how if I had woken up half a second later it would have been to find my big brother's brains sprayed all over the wall!"

Sam expected anger in response from Dean, or denial, but he never expected the sad, quiet voice that came out of his brother's mouth. "You already know the answer to that question, Sammy."

"No I don't!" Sam yelled, his anger tempered slightly by the tone of Dean's voice. Dean suddenly stood up, advancing on Sam.

"Because I thought you were dead, ok, Sammy! Because I thought my baby brother had died and I couldn't imagine living without you! There. Now you know." Sighing, Dean sat down next to Sam on the bed, their shoulders touching.

For a moment, Sam was speechless. Then he spoke, quietly, voice wavering. "Promise me that…if I…if I die, Dean, for real, that you won't kill yourself."

"I can't," Dean said simply, staring at his hands, expecting more rage from Sam. Instead there was quiet for a moment, then just as suddenly Sam leaned his head on Dean's shoulder.

"I couldn't promise either," Sam said softly. Dean fought back a sob, instead resting his chin on the top of Sam's head, putting his arm around Sam's shoulders.

"Then I guess we're just going to have to live forever, huh?" Dean whispered.

"Guess so," Sam answered, a smile crossing his face. A knock sounded on the door, and Becky, Grace, and Alex entered.

"We came to say goodbye," Becky said, pulling first Sam and then Dean into tight hugs. "Don't be strangers, ok?"

"We won't," Dean answered, looking at Sam. "I promise we'll stop by here more often." Sam smiled, and the brothers finished their goodbyes, throwing their suitcases into the trunk of the Impala and then climbing into the car.

"So, Sammy, I say we have a little fun," Dean said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove. "Now we could do your idea of fun. We could go to the library and study, then maybe head over to the zoo and you could teach me about why polar bears have fur. Finish it up with a little more old-fashioned studying and an early bedtime."

"Or we could do your idea of fun," Sam replied with a laugh, pointing his finger at Dean. "Run around the beach seeing how many girls' bikini tops we could untie, get into a fight at a bar when we hit on some guy's girlfriend. End with a massive hangover and amnesia about the last twelve hours of our lives."

Dean smacked Sam on the head, a gesture Sam reciprocated. "Or…we could always head to a hotel," Dean suggested, his tone more serious. "Pick up some beers, order in a pizza, do a scary movie marathon."

"Like when we were kids." Sam smiled at Dean. "Course that was without the beer."

"Speak for yourself, Sammy, I wasn't drinking apple juice." Dean laughed at the expression on Sam's face. "So you in?"

"Always," Sam answered. Dean smiled in return, and they continued driving.

_THE END_

_I just want to offer up a huge thanks to everyone who read this story, and everyone who left reviews. I have never gotten such an incredible response to a story ever, and you all have definitely made me want to keep writing. _


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